


Like Ordering a Pizza

by Flirteenth Doctor (HyperPluviophile)



Category: Ashes to Ashes (UK TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Attempt at Humor, Broken Bones, Concussions, Eventual Fluff, Head Injury, Hidden Injury, Hiding An Injury Trope, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, I have hurt the entire CID team and I am not sorry, Light Angst, Medicinal Drug Use, No spoilers but it's Gene, Stab Wound, Whump, vomit tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28368432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyperPluviophile/pseuds/Flirteenth%20Doctor
Summary: “Ok, so that’s… One concussion, a broken wrist, some sort of head wound close to an eye socket, damage to a pre-existing wound…” Alex raises her voice, catching Gene’s eye from across the room, “Anything else Guv?”Ever helpful, Gene frowns “Jesus you sound like you’re ordering a pizza Bolly.” He gruffs, “Just tell the doctor to get his arse here pronto tonto.”The CID Team takes an unexpected trip to A&E. It goes about as well as you might expect.
Relationships: Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Like Ordering a Pizza

**Author's Note:**

> Has anyone ever noticed the little note on the wall in the CID kitchen in S3 E2 that says "Police Doctor" with a phone number on it? 
> 
> I did. So I blame that entirely for why this exists.

For as long as Alex has been here she’s not yet seen anyone make use of the faded telephone number pinned up on the bulletin board. They’ve had various scrapes and bruises and even the odd fractured finger over the last three years, but even when she herself had been battered over the head and locked in a fridge, a quick cleanout with some antiseptic had been deemed enough. Doctors and hospitals are reserved exclusively for the most extreme of injuries. Stabbings and shootings. Close brushes with death. 

Beyond those instances, well... even the most reasonable, measured members of CID seem to at least partially share the Guv’s sentiment of “Unless I’m dying those smug bastarding doctors can keep their noseying hands to themselves”

This afternoon, therefore, marks a first for CID. Carefully cradling the smattering of steadily blooming bruises on her torso Alex tears the number off the wall, not wasting a second before turning back around to make her way to the nearest telephone. In the main office chaos is already unfolding, but she doesn’t spare it a thought in her haste. Propping herself up against her desk (allowing it to take primary responsibility for keeping her upright) she punches in the number, silently praying the police doctor won’t be elsewhere. Won’t be across the city tending to some other emergency. 

Down the phone line there’s a high pitched buzzing. Then another, and another. As it rings she spares a passing Keats, laden with tissues and antiseptic wipes instead of his characteristic clipboard, a small smile. The Guv won’t be happy for his interference, but given the mess they’re currently in Alex is grateful for any and all assistance. 

Seconds pass like minutes as the phone continues to whir. Alex holds her breath. Fighting the pain in her ribs even as she frets that perhaps it’s too late in the day, or, just as likely, the number has been pinned to the board, forgotten, for such a long time that it’s no longer even the correct one. Maybe she should hang up. There’s so much to be done, and she can’t afford to waste any time waiting for- 

“Hello?” She exhales. Relief flooding through her as finally a voice crackles down the line. “Yeah, hi. This is DI Alex Drake, CID Fenchurch East. I’m looking for Doctor Warner?” 

“Hi” She breathes another easing sigh, silently thanking the universe as the speaker affirms that he is indeed the man she’s looking for. “Yes… Um,” Alex hesitates, not quite sure where or even how to begin. “I’ve got quite a lot for you. You might want to get a pen…” 

She trails off, allowing herself for the first time since they’d arrived back at Fenchurch to take a full stock of the casualties.

Naturally, him being both the closest to her and most obviously in need of a doctor, her gaze falls on Ray. No one’s quite sure what happened between him and the scrawny gangster with the penknife; one moment the pair had been wrestling right in the thick of the scrap, and the next they’d disappeared deeper into the warehouse. Given that Ray had, unlike his opponent, emerged conscious, he had at the very least in some capacity “won” but the bloodied hand he’s had steadily clamped over his left eye socket ever since proves that his victory wasn’t without cost. Viv (god bless the man), appears to be trying in vain to persuade Ray to take his hand away, if only just for a moment, but it’s unlikely that he’ll budge. Even from here Alex can see the way he flinches whenever Viv or Keats starts to move too close. It could just be sheer stubbornness, but more likely he’s afraid of what he’ll find if he takes his hand away. 

“Um... We’ve got a DI here with some sort of head wound. It’s bleeding quite profusely so we can’t get a good look at it, but it’s close to the left eye…” Is what, of that information, Alex decides to relay. With that only just the beginning, and Doctor Warner still sat at his desk several streets away, she needs to be concise. 

Down the phone there’s a soft hum of acknowledgement as the doctor makes a note. Meanwhile, Alex turns her attention to the next patient, drawn suddenly by the unmistakable sound of Chris finally losing his battle with the nausea he’s been blearily complaining about ever since they’d left the scene. 

Alex winces, watching with a grimace as he heaves solemnly into the waste paper bin. The sickening splat of his skull making contact with the brickwork behind him is going to be forever ingrained in her brain, as is the way he’d slumped motionless in the gangster's grip, his eyes rolling back into his head for a moment. That alone had been enough to confirm that they’re dealing with a moderate concussion at the very least. At most…Well. The only reason Alex had held off on calling an ambulance then and there was the fact he could still walk in a reasonably straight line. Now however, she’s starting to worry that may have been the wrong choice. 

A short cough down the phone jolts her back to the present, and Alex gives herself a brief mental shake. There’s no point fretting about it, not after the decision has already been made. “We’ve also got a probable concussion” She continues “Uh, thrown against a wall during the altercation. Yes, slurred speech, and nausea…” 

She looks back to Chris, watching as a borderline grey Shaz pats him gently on the back. However bad his injuries might be, it’s only thanks to her surprisingly strong right hook that his wounds aren’t any worse. Her decision to crack the gangster over the back of the head with a brick had given Chris just the window to stumble away, barely conscious but at the very least alive. Had Shaz also managed to escape unscathed it would’ve been nothing short of brilliant. 

Speaking of Shaz; “We’ve also got what looks like a broken wrist” Adds Alex, upon the doctors next prompt. She can’t get a good look at the injury, not now it’s buried under a bag of frozen peas, but last she’d seen it was already beginning to swell an ugly purple. 

“Better her hand than her bloody head, stupid plonk” Was how Gene had so eloquently put it. True enough, but his sentiment might change when he realises he’ll have to make his own tea for the foreseeable future. 

There’s another pause as Doctor Warner stops to note that down. While waiting, Alex makes the mistake of attempting to shift her weight slightly, regretting it instantly when pain flares up her side. It’s a reminder of why she hadn’t been quick enough to come to Chris’ rescue herself. Why she’d been unable to follow Ray. 

Before turning his attention on Chris the largest gangster had dealt her a series of sharp pointed blows, somehow landing one perfectly over the scar on her stomach. In a split second, the whole world had turned white, Alex’s vision flashing with images of Layton, her mother, Molly, and finally the nameless young copper who’s been haunting her ever since she returned. It’s probably just one of those strange glitches she’s grown accustomed to in this world, but that doesn’t eliminate the risk of internal bleeding such force to a freshly healed injury might cause. 

“Umm… I was injured four months ago. Gunshot wound to the abdomen” As she speaks she presses the tips of her fingers experimentally near the scar, hissing when pain blossoms with even the slightest touch. “Should probably get that checked too” She adds with a wince. “Ok, so that’s… One concussion, a broken wrist, some kind of head wound close to an eye socket, damage to a pre-existing wound…” She raises her voice, catching Gene’s eye from across the room “Anything else Guv?” 

Ever helpful, Gene frowns “Jesus you sound like you’re ordering a pizza Bolly” He gruffs “Just tell the man to get his arse here pronto tonto” 

Alex glares pointedly. “Right. Just that then” And then she curses internally because he’s right as well; it sounds like she should be asking for a side order of garlic bread. “Alright. Thank you, bye” 

Placing the handset back down on the receiver Alex rests both her hands on the desk, allowing it to support her whole body weight as she lets her head drop for a moment. Even if there’s nothing wrong with her, she’s been on her feet in four-inch heels for hours. Worse, it doesn’t look as though any of them will be getting to bed anytime soon. The moment she moves it’ll be straight back into the fray, and there’s no telling when she’ll next get a break. 

Looking back up wearily she finds Keats standing over her. The man smiles gently, reaching out to rub a hand over her arm “You should have a seat. You took quite a pummeling yourself, Alex” 

Alex shakes her head. If she sits down there’s no guarantee she’ll be able to bring herself to stand up again. “I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse”

Bracing herself for just another moment, she pushes off from the desk. 

Across the room Chris is still hanging over the bin, apparently having finished being sick but in no position to move himself away. Even in his dazed state he still looks absolutely desolate, eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar. 

“It’s alright Chris.” Alex reaches out, replacing Shaz’s hand on his back with her own “How is he?” 

Shaz shakes her head “Haven’t been able to get a word of sense out of him ma’am… Mind you, he has been a bit preoccupied” 

“Right” Alex nods, trying and failing to wrestle down any growing sense of concern. If there’s anything to be worried about there’s nothing they can do now until Doctor Warner arrives, except keep him conscious and make sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit. She turns her attention to the young woman beside her, “What about you Shaz? How’s your arm?” 

“The frozen peas are helping. A bit” Says Shaz, even if her stoicism is somewhat undercut by the waver in her voice. 

Alex frowns sympathetically, “The Doctor said he’d be here in about ten minutes” It’s unfortunate, but similar to Chris there’s little she can do beyond offer vague reassurances. She’s hesitant even to offer her a cup of tea, just on the off, unfortunate, chance Doctor Warner advises taking Shaz to hospital. Alex can’t remember if ‘Don’t eat or drink if you might need surgery’ is routine practice in 1983, but better safe than sorry. 

Leaning over she rubs Shaz’s uninjured arm gently before straightening back up. On her way to check on Ray she makes brief eye contact with Viv, who throws her a look that simultaneously reads “Good luck” and, “I don’t get paid enough to put up with this” 

Silently preparing herself, she crouches down in front of the Inspector. “Ray? Let me see?” 

Turning his injured eye away from her as best he can, Ray shakes his head. “I keep telling you. It’s nothing” He murmurs, “Couple of frozen peas and it’ll be fine” 

“Frozen peas aren’t going to do anything if you’ve cracked your eye socket” Reasons Alex, shrugging when he glares at her, “I’m sorry but it’s true” 

“Yeah?” Even in his current state, it’s remarkable how clearly he’s able to convey ‘bugger off you interfering mare’ without the need for words. “And neither’s you poking about'' 

“He’s right Bolls,” Says Gene, crossing the room to join them “You won’t be able to do anything for him even if he has”

There’s an uncharacteristic subduedness to his words. No element of snark or insult, just the weary tone of a king presiding over his decidedly battered kingdom. As a man of action, he must despise this helpless waiting more than anything. It’s evident in the subtle, soft pity in his eyes as he holds his hip flask out to his deputy. 

“Here, have some of this Raymondo. It’ll help” 

“Is alcohol really a good idea?” Asks Keats, glancing up from the clipboard he’s now frantically scrawling on, doubtless making notes for his report. “If DI Carling has damaged his eyeball or eye socket then I imagine the doctor will want to-”

“And where, James, did I ask for your opinion?” Interrupts Gene. He doesn’t raise his voice, but there’s a dangerous edge to his tone that has Alex wincing. Oh no. Here it comes. Provoking the Guv is never advisable, but right now it’s akin to kicking a dog when it’s down. A very proud, eager to rip your arm off dog. “You got hurt back in the day, this’d tide you over until the ambulance came.” He continues, “That’s how it’s always been done where I come from”

Jim blinks. Stunned for a moment. Then he slowly lowers his clipboard. “In case you haven’t noticed this is 1983. Not the bronze age, or the good old days as you insist they were. I’m telling you, Hunt, from a medical point of view…” 

Caught in the space between them, Alex has to actively fight the urge to roll her eyes. In the interests of staying as far out of this as possible, however, she instead settles on sharing an exhausted look with Viv. Even if she were to intervene it likely wouldn’t do any good. They’re probably going to bicker until Doctor Warner arrives, simply because there’s nothing else to do. This is likely especially true of Gene; he can’t help his team directly, no, but he _can _call Keats a “smarmy git” Not especially productive, but it’s better than standing around doing nothing.__

__Alex rubs a finger into her temple, where the beginnings of a headache are starting to dawn. No matter how quickly Doctor Warner gets here, she has a feeling it’s going to be a long night._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully I'll get around to updating this at some point. In the meantime, thanks youstupidplonk for beta reading x It was much appreciated ^_^


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